Out-spoke DOLLY the Chambermaid, (Trembling a little, but not afraid,) "Stand and Deliver, O' BEAU BROCADE'!" But the BEAU rode nearer, and would not speak, For he saw by the moonlight a rosy cheek; And a spavined mare with a rusty hide; So never a word he spoke as yet, For he thought 'twas a freak of MEG or BET; Out-spoke DOLLY the Chambermaid, (Tremulous now, and sore afraid,) "Stand and Deliver, O 'BEAU Brocade'!" Firing then, out of sheer alarm, Hit the BEAU in the bridle-arm. Button the first went none knows where, But it carried away his solitaire ; Button the second a circuit made, Glanced in under the shoulder blade; Down from the saddle fell" BEAU BROCADE "! Down from the saddle and never stirred ! DOLLY grew white as a Windsor curd. - Slipped not less from the mare, and bound Then, lest his Worship should rise and flee, Jumped on his chestnut, BET the fleet (Called after BET of Portugal Street); Came like the wind to the old Inn-door; Vowed she'd 'peach if he misbehaved Staines and Windsor were all on fire: But whether His M-J-STY saw her or not, HOGARTH jotted her down on the spot; And something of DOLLY one still may trace In the fresh contours of his "Milkmaid's" face. GEORGE the Guard fled over the sea: JOHN had a fit of perplexity; Turned King's evidence, sad to state; - As for the BEAU, he was duly tried, When his wound was healed, at Whitsuntide; Served for a day - as the last of "sights," To the world of St. James's-Street and " White's", Went on his way to TYBURN Tree, Every privilege rank confers :- Flagon of ale at Holborn Bar; Every one knows the speech he made; - Waved to the crowd with his gold-laced hat : Turned to the Topsman undismayed This was the finish of "BEAU BROCADE "! And this is the Ballad that seemed to hide "Humbly Inscrib'd (with curls and tails) By the Author to FREDERICK, Prince of WALES: "Published by FRANCIS and OLIver Pine; Ludgate-Hill, at the Blackmoor Sign. Seventeen-Hundred-and-Thirty-Nine." UNE MARQUISE. A RHYMED MONOLOGUE IN THE LOUVRE. "Belle Marquise, vos beaux yeux me font mourir d'amour." Mute at every word you utter, "Belle Marquise !” — As you sit there growing prouder, And your As you know, For the Sieur Larose spoke fainter, Bowing low, Thanked Madame and Heaven for Mercy |